“Humph! Only a room where Father Time hums. What does that mean?”

“I deduce that it means Mr. Clock’s library, where all those electrified clocks hum as they work.”

“Yes, yes, of course, it has to mean that. But I’ve been all over that room, looking for sliding panels, concealed hiding places, anything, and I found nothing. Well, give me the rest of the third message. I already have half.” And he displayed a torn piece of paper.

Jupiter was fumbling in his pocket when there was an unexpected interruption. With a great breaking of glass, the windows on each side of the garage crashed in. The shades flew up.

Seconds later a blue-uniformed man was climbing in through each window, each holding a large automatic pointed at Mr. Jeeters, Carlos and Jerry.

“Up with your hands!” the first policeman snapped. “Quick! No false moves!”

“The cops!” Jerry exclaimed. Carlos muttered something in Spanish whose meaning the boys did not know but could guess.

“Stand still! Put your hands up!” the second policeman ordered. “We have you covered from both sides.”

Slowly Jerry and Carlos put up their hands. Mr. Jeeters backed up until he was against the workbench and for a moment it seemed as if he was feeling for a weapon behind him. But the first policeman covered him with his gun.

“You, too!” he snapped. “You — what’re you doing? What’s that burning?”

“He’s burned the messages!” Jupiter exclaimed. The blow-lamp was still burning on the bench with a low flame, and Mr. Jeeters had thrust all the messages into its flame. Even as they watched the bits of paper turned into curls of ash.

“Now, let’s see you try to solve anything!” Mr. Jeeters sneered.

“I can remember the first two messages,” Jupiter said. “But if the one with all the numbers is gone, I don’t know how we can ever find out what Mr. Clock was trying to tell us.”

“Try your brains on that problem!” Mr. Jeeters laughed. He turned to Jerry and Carlos. “You fools!” he hissed at the other two. “You told me you had shaken off your tail. This fat kid called the police, and you let them trail you here — ”

“But I didn’t!” Jupiter blurted out, as astonished as anyone else by this new development.

“Keep them covered, Joe,” the first policeman said.

He strode to the garage door and swung it up. A dapper-looking man stepped in, and the garage door swung down behind him. He stood smiling at the group before him.

“Well, well,” he said. “Nicely done, men. The situation seems to be under control.” Jupiter’s eyes bugged out. “Mr. Hugenay!” he gasped.

18

Back to the Room of Clocks

“Yes, my boy,” Hugenay said. “It is I, the incomparable Hugenay, who has foiled the police of three continents. You did not think I would let dullards like these get ahead of me, did you?”

Mr. Jeeters and his companions seemed to recognize the name, for they looked grim and nervous. They remained silent, however, waiting for developments.

“But — but — ” Jupiter spluttered. “They lost you in the traffic. You couldn’t possibly have followed us!”

“I took precautions,” Hugenay said airily. He stepped up to Jupiter and slid a hand into the side pocket of Jupe’s jacket. He brought out a small, flat object.

“This,” he said, “is an electronic signalling device. I put it in your pocket the last time I spoke to you. In my car I have a receiver tuned to it. I simply followed the sound it emitted. Even in the traffic on the freeway I was able to follow, and I knew when the truck turned off. It took me a few minutes to trail the sound to this garage, but once I had located you, I simply sent my assistants in to take charge.”

“Mr. Hugenay!” It was Bob who spoke now. Still tied to a chair, he had been staring at the art thief ever since he had entered. “It was you who chased us yesterday and stole the clock, wasn’t it?”

Mr. Hugenay made a slight bow. “I plead guilty. However, I intended no harm. I only wanted to, shall we say, help you in your search? But this is no time for talking, pleasant though it is to meet old acquaintances again. Men, handcuff those three to that post.”

A steel post rose in the centre of the garage to support the roof. Cowed by the policemen’s guns, Mr. Jeeters, Jerry and Carlos stood with their backs to it while one of the blue-coated men manacled their wrists. The right wrist of each man was handcuffed to the left wrist of the man beside him, so that when the policemen had finished, the three made a circle around the steel post, quite unable to go anywhere.

“Very good,” Hugenay said. “Now it is time for us to get on with our business.”

“Wait a minute, Hugenay.” It was Jeeters who spoke, and he was trying to sound pleasant. “Why don’t we all throw in together? Between us we can probably find the stuff a lot quicker.”

“I know everything you know,” Hugenay said lightly. “You tried to get ahead of me and you must suffer for it. In any case, as you see I am working with the police now. All right, men, untie the boys and let’s get started for Bert Clock’s library.”

A moment later the six were in a large black sedan, moving at a normal speed through the Hollywood streets.

Hugenay chuckled to himself as they rode along.

“My boy,” he said to Jupiter, who sat beside him, “no doubt you had given up all thought of ever seeing me again.”

“Well, yes sir, I had,” Jupiter admitted. “Especially after the police came through the windows. I never expected you to be working with the police.”

Hugenay chuckled again. “The police? I merely rented two police uniforms at a costume shop today and presto! — I had two policemen for assistants. Do not be fooled by surface appearances.”

Jupiter gulped. He had been fooled — just as much fooled as Carlos and the others. His reluctant admiration for Hugenay rose.

“Harry,” Jupiter said to the boy who was squeezed in beside him, “we are co-operating with Mr. Hugenay. I agreed to do so if he would help get you and Bob free. He has done that. Also he has said he will do one thing more — he’ll prove your father is innocent.”

“He will?” Harry exclaimed. “Golly, that’s terrific!”

“It is simple, my boy,” Hugenay said. “I will tell you the circumstances, Mr. Bert Clock, the former actor, has — if you have not already guessed it — been the brains behind a gang of art thieves that has been operating for years in this area, stealing valuable paintings from wealthy motion picture people who did not guard them well enough.”

“Of course!” Bob said. “That’s why Mr. Clock changed his name some years ago and has been acting so mysterious. He’s a thief. I’ll bet he stole those paintings that were hidden under the linoleum in Harry’s kitchen.”

“Perhaps he did not steal them himself,” Hugenay said as they rolled along. “He had assistants to do that. Jerry, the former jockey, was one. He used several jockeys, because they are small men and can get through windows easily. He sold the pictures to wealthy South American collectors who would keep them safely hidden. Carlos was a contact with the South Americans.

“A couple of years ago, several paintings were stolen that Mr. Clock could not get rid of. Two of his best South American customers had just been put in jail after the failure of a plot to overthrow their government. So Mr. Clock hid the paintings, and told his men he would sell them later, when the time was ripe.

“However, he made no move and Jerry and Carlos decided to act on their own. They stole three paintings and brought them to Mr. Clock to sell, demanding that he also produce the five — yes, it was five — that were hidden.

“However, by one of those freakish coincidences with which life is full, the police investigating this latest art robbery turned their attention to someone in Mr. Clock’s own house — your father, Harry. Frightened lest they learn too much, Mr. Clock hid the three new paintings where the police would find them and blame your father.”